Towers of Midnight

by Robert Jordan; Brandon Sanderson

  She looked at Rand and took his hand. "You will be strong, Rand. You'll do this. You'll lead them. I know it."

  "You saw that?" he asked. "In a viewing?"

  She shook her head. "I don't need to. I believe in you." I almost killed you," he whispered. "When you look at me, you see a murderer. You feel my hand at your throat."

  "What? Of course I don't! Rand, meet my eyes. You can sense me through the bond. Do you feel a sliver of hesitation or fear from me?"

  He searched her eyes with his own, so deep. She didn't back down. She could meet the eyes of this sheepherder.

  He sat up straighter. "Oh, Min. What would I do without you?"

  She snorted. "You have kings and Aiel chiefs following you. Aes Sedai, Asha'man, and ta'veren. I'm certain you'd get along."

  "No," Rand said. "You're more vital than them all. You remind me

  who I am. Besides, you think more clearly than most of those who call themselves my counselors. You could be a queen, if you wished it."

  "All I wish for is you, stupid looby."

  "Thank you." He hesitated. "Though I could manage without quite so much name calling."

  "Life's tough, isn't it?"

  He smiled. Then he stood, taking a deep breath. His guilt was still there, but he managed it now, as he managed the pain. Nearby, the refugees perked up. Rand turned toward the bearded wretch Min had indicated earlier; the man sat with his feet in the mud.

  "You," the man said to Rand, "you're him. The Dragon Reborn."

  "Yes," Rand said. "You were a soldier?"

  "I. . ." The man's eyes grew distant. "Another life. I was in the King's Guard, before he was taken, before we were seized by Lady Chadmar, then disbanded." The fatigue seemed to bleed from his eyes as he thought of earlier days.

  "Excellent," Rand said. "We need to restore this city, Captain."

  "Captain?" the man said. "But I. . ." He cocked his head. Then he stood up and brushed himself off. He suddenly had a faintly military air about him, despite the ripped clothing and the snarled beard. "Well, I suppose you're right. But I don't think it'll be easy. The people are starving."

  "I will see to that," Rand said. "I need you to gather your soldiers."

  "I don't see many of the other lads here. . . . No, wait. There's Votabek and Redbord." He waved to a pair of the toughs Min had noticed earlier. They hesitated, then walked over.

  "Durnham?" one of them asked. "What's this?"

  "It's time for the lawlessness in the city to end," Durnham said. "We're going to organize things, clean it up. The Lord Dragon has returned."

  One of them spat to the side. He was a burly man with curly black hair, Domani skin, and a thin mustache. "Burn him. He left us. I—" He cut off as saw Rand.

  "I'm sorry," Rand said, meeting the man's eyes. "I failed you. I will not do so again."

  The man glanced at his companion, who shrugged. "Lain's never going to pay us. Might as well see what we can do here."

  "Naeff," Rand called, waving the Asha'man forward. He and the Maidens stepped up from where they had been watching. "Make a gateway back to the Stone. I want weapons, armor and uniforms."

  "I'll do it immediately," Naeff said. "We'll have soldiers bring them—

  "No," Rand said. "Pass the supplies through, into this building here.

  I'll clear a place for the gateway inside it. But no soldiers are to come."

  Rand raised his eyes, looking at the street. "Bandar Eban has suffered enough beneath the hands of outsiders. Today, she will not know the hand of a conqueror."

  Min stepped back, and watched with wonder. The three soldiers has-tened into the building and cleared out the urchins. When Rand saw them he asked them to be messengers to run errands. They responded. Everyone responded to Rand, when they took time to look at him.

  Perhaps another might have thought it some form of Compulsion, but Min saw their faces change, saw hope return as a glimmer in their eyes. They saw something about Rand they could trust. Something, at least, they hoped they could trust.

  The three soldiers sent a few of the messenger boys and girls to fetch other former soldiers. Naeff made his gateway. In minutes, the original three soldiers stepped out of the building, wearing silvery breastplates and simple, clean clothing of green. The men had combed their beards and hair and found some water to wash their faces As quickly as that, they stopped looking like beggars and became soldiers. A bit smelly, but soldiers nonetheless.

  The woman Min had noted earlier—the one she was certain could learn to channel—came over to speak with Rand. After a bit, she nodded, and soon had gathered women and men to fill buckets from the well. Min frowned at that until they started wiping clean the faces and hands of those who approached.

  People began to gather around. Some curious, others hostile, still others merely caught in the flow. The woman and her team began sorting through them and setting them to work. Some to seek out the wounded or sickly, others to take up swords and uniforms. Another woman began interrogating the urchins, discovering where their parents were, if they had any.

  Min sat down on the box that Rand had been sitting on. Within the hour, he had a group of soldiers five hundred strong, led by Captain Durn-ham and his two lieutenants. Many of those five hundred kept glancing down at their clean clothing and silvery breastplates as if amazed.

  Rand spoke with many of them, apologizing directly. As he was speak-ing to one woman, the crowd behind began to shuffle and move. Rand turned to see an aged man approaching, his skin broken by terrible lesions. The crowd kept its distance.

  "Naeff," Rand called.

  "My Lord?"

  "Bring the Aes Sedai through," Rand said. "There are people who re-quire Healing." The woman who had gotten people to fill water buckets led the old man to one side.

  "My Lord," Captain Durnham said, marching up. Min blinked. The man had found a razor somewhere and shaved off his beard, revealing a strong chin. He'd left a Domani mustache. Four men followed him as a guard.

  "We're going to need more room, my Lord," Durnham said. "That building you chose is overflowing, and more and more are coming, filling the street."

  "What do you suggest?" Rand asked.

  "The docks," Durnham replied. "They are held by one of the city merchants. I'll wager we can find some near-empty warehouses to use. Those once held food but . . . well, there isn't any left."

  "And the merchant who holds the place?" Rand asked.

  "My Lord," Captain Durnham said, "nothing you can't deal with."

  Rand smiled, then waved for Durnham to lead the way. Rand held his hand out to Min.

  "Rand," she said, joining him, "they'll need food."

  "Yes," he agreed. He looked southward, toward the nearby docks. "We'll find it there."

  "Won't it already have been eaten?"

  Rand didn't reply. They joined the newly formed city guard, walking at the head of a force in green and silver. Behind them trailed a growing throng of hopeful refugees.

  The enormous docks of Bandar Eban were some of the most impressive in the world. They lay in a half-moon at the base of the city. Min was surprised to see how many ships were there, most of them Sea Folk vessels.

  That's right, Min thought. Rand had them bring food to the city. But it had spoiled. As Rand had left the city, he'd gotten word that all of the food on those ships had fallen to the Dark One's touch.

  Someone had set up blockades at the base of the roadway. Other roads to the docks looked similarly inhibited. Uniformed soldiers peeked out nervously from behind the barricade as Rand's force walked up.

  "Stop right there!" a voice called. "We don't—"

  Rand lifted his hand, then waved it casually. The barricade—formed of furniture and planks—rumbled, then slid to the side with a grinding of wood. Men cried out from behind, scrambling away.

  Rand left the barricade slumped at the side of the road. He stepped

  forward, and Min could sense peace inside of him. A ragged-looking group

/>   of men with cudgels stood in the road, eyes wide. Rand picked one at the

  front. "Who is it that blocks my people from these docks and seeks to

  hoard food for himself? I would . . . speak with this person."

  "My Lord Dragon?" a surprised voice asked.

  Min glanced to the side. A tall, lean man in a red Domani coat hustled toward them from the docks. His shirt had once been fine and ruffled, but was now wrinkled and unkempt. He looked exhausted.

  What was his name? Min thought. Iralin. That's it. Master of the docks.

  "Iralin?" Rand asked. "What is going on here? What have you done?"

  "What have / done?" the man demanded. "I've been trying to keep everyone from rushing those ships for the spoiled food! Anyone who eats it gets sick and dies. The people won't listen. Several groups tried to storm the docks for the food, so I decided not to let them kill themselves eating it."

  The man's voice had never been that angry before. Min remembered him as peaceable.

  "Lady Chadmar fled an hour after you left," Iralin continued. "The other members of the Council of Merchants ran within the day. Those burning Sea Folk claim they won't sail away until they've unloaded their wares—or until I give them payment to do something else. So I've been waiting for the city to starve itself, eat that food and die, or go up in another riot of flame and death. That's what I've been doing here. What have you been doing, Lord Dragon?"

  Rand closed his eyes and sighed. He did not apologize to Iralin as he had the others; perhaps he saw that it would not have meant anything.

  Min glared at Iralin. "He has weights upon his shoulders, merchant. He cannot watch over each and every—"

  "It is all right, Min," Rand said, laying his hand on her arm and opening his eyes. "It is no more than I deserve. Iralin. Before I left the city, you told me that the food on those ships had spoiled. Did you check every barrel and sack?"

  "I checked enough," Iralin said, still hostile. "If you open a hundred sacks and you find the same thing in every one, you figure out the pattern. My wife has been trying to figure out a safe method of sifting the rotted grain from the safe grain. If there's any safe grain to be had."

  Rand began walking toward the ships. Iralin followed, looking confused, perhaps because Rand hadn't yelled at him. Min joined them. Rand approached a Sea Folk vessel sitting low in the water, moored by ropes. A group of Sea Folk lounged atop it.

  "1 would speak with your Sailmistress," Rand called.

  "I am she," said one of the Sea Folk, a woman with white in her straight black hair and a pattern of tattoos across her right hand. "milis din Shalada Three Stars."

  "I made a deal," Rand called up, "for food to be delivered here."

  "That one doesn't want it delivered," Milis said, nodding to Iralin. "He won't let us unload; says that if we do, he'll have his archers loose on us."

  "I wouldn't be able to hold the people back," Iralin said. "I've had to spread rumors in town that the Sea Folk are holding the food hostage."

  "You see what we suffer for you?" Milis said to Rand. "I begin to wonder about our Bargain with you, Rand al'Thor."

  "Do you deny that I am the Coramoor?" Rand asked, meeting her eyes. She seemed to have trouble looking away from him.

  "No," Milis said. "No, guess that I do not. You will want to board the Whitecap, I suppose."

  "If I may."

  "Up with you, then," she said.

  Once the gangplank was in place, Rand strode up it, followed by Min with Naeff and the two Maidens. After a moment, Iralin came, too, followed by the captain and some of his soldiers.

  Milis led them to the center of the deck, where a hatch and ladder led down to the ship's hold. Rand climbed down first, moving awkwardly, being one-handed. Min followed.

  Beneath, light peeked through slots in the deck, illuminating sack upon sack of grain. The air smelled dusty and thick.

  "We'll be glad to have this cargo gone," Milis said softly, coming down next. "It's been killing the rats."

  "I would think you'd appreciate that," Min said.

  "A ship without rats is like an ocean without storms," Milis said. "We complain about both, but my crew mutters every time they find one of the vermin dead."

  There were several open sacks of grain nearby, turned on their sides, spilling dark contents across the floor. Iralin had spoken of trying to sift the bad from the good, but Min didn't see any good. Just shriveled, discolored grains.

  Rand stared at the open sacks as Iralin came down into the hold. Captain Durnham shuffled down the ladder last with his men.

  "Nothing stays good any longer," Iralin said. "It's not just this grain-People brought winter stores from the farms with them. They're all gone.

  We're going to die, and that's that. We won't reach the bloody Last Battle. We-"

  "Peace, Iralin," Rand said softly. "It is not so bad as you think." He stepped forward and yanked free the tie on the top of a sack. It fell to the side, and golden barley spilled from it across the floor of the hold, not a single speck of darkness on it. The barley looked as if it had just been haryested, each grain plump and full.

  Mills gasped. "What did you do to it?"

  "Nothing," Rand said. "You merely opened the wrong sacks. The rest are all good."

  "Merely . . ." Iralin said. "We happened to open the exact number of bad sacks without reaching one of the good ones? That's ridiculous."

  "Not ridiculous," Rand said, laying his hand Iralin's shoulder. "Simply implausible. You did well here, Iralin. I'm sorry to have left you in such a predicament. I'm naming you to the Merchant Council."

  Irilin gaped.

  To the side, Captain Durnham pulled open another sack. "This one's good."

  "So's this one," said one of his men.

  "Potatoes here," another soldier said from beside a barrel. "Look as good as any I've had. Better than most, actually. Not dried up, like you'd expect from winter leftovers."

  "Spread the word," Rand said to the soldiers. "Gather your men to set up distribution in one of the warehouses. I want this grain well guarded; Iralin was wise to worry that the people would rush the docks. Don't give out uncooked grain—that will turn people to hoarding and bartering with it. We'll need cauldrons and fires to cook some of it. Move the rest to stores. Hurry, now."

  "Yes, sir!" Captain Durnham said.

  "The people I've gathered so far will help," Rand said. "They won't steal the grain; we can trust them. Have them unload the ships and burn the bad grain. There should be thousands of sacks that are still good."

  Rand looked to Min. "Come. I need to organize the Aes Sedai for Wealing." He hesitated, looking at the stunned Iralin. "Lord Iralin, you are steward of the city for now, and Durnham is your commander. You will soon have sufficient troops to restore order."

  Steward of the city . . ." Iralin said. "Can you do that?"

  Rand smiled. "Somebody must. Hurry about your work; there is much to do. I can only remain here long enough for you to make things stable. A day or so."

  Rand turned to climb up the ladder.

  'A day?" Iralin said, still standing in the hold with Min "To get things stable? We can't possibly do it in that time. Can we?"

  "I think you'll be surprised by him, Lord Iralin," Min said, gripping the ladder and starting to climb. "I am, each day."

  CHAPTER

  26

  Perrin rode Stepper out of camp, leading a large army. They didn't fly the wolfhead banner. So far as he knew, his order to burn the things had been followed. He was less certain of that decision now.

  There was an odd scent in the air. A staleness. Like the inside of a room that had been left locked up for years. Stepper trotted onto the Jehannah Road. Grady and Neald flanked Perrin directly, and they smelled eager.

  "Neald, you sure you're ready?" Perrin asked as he turned the army to the southeast.

  "I feel as strong as I ever have, my Lord," Neald answered. "Strong enough to kill some Whitecloaks. I've always wanted a c
hance to do that."

  "Only a fool looks for a chance to kill," Perrin said.

  "Br, yes, my Lord," Neald said. "Though, maybe I should mention—"

  "No need to speak of that," Grady interrupted.

  "What?" Perrin asked.

  Grady looked embarrassed. "It's nothing, I'm sure." Say it, Grady," Perrin said.

  The older man took a deep breath. "We tried to make a gateway this morning to send refugees back, and it didn't work. One time earlier, it happened, too. Weaves fell apart and unraveled on us."

  Perrin frowned. "Other weaves work fine?"

  "They do," Neald said quickly.

  "Like I said, my Lord," Grady said. "I'm sure it will work when we try again. Just not enough practice."

  It wasn't likely that they'd need Traveling to retreat from this battle-not with only two Asha'man and so large a force. But it was still discon-certing to lose the chance. It had better not happen with other weaves He was depending on Grady and Neald to confuse and disrupt the initial Whitecloak charge.

  Maybe we should turn back, Perrin thought, but squelched the thought immediately. He didn't like having to make this decision. It made him sick to think of fighting, man against man, when their real enemy was the Dark One. But his hand had been forced.

  They continued on, his hammer in its strap at his side. Hopper had implied it was no different from the axe. To the wolf, one weapon was like another.

  Mayener Winged Guards rode beside him, red-painted breastplates gleaming, looking like graceful hawks ready to swoop. Alliandre's soldiers, straightforward and determined, rode behind, like boulders poised to crush. Two Rivers longbowmen, like sapling oaks, were nimble yet sturdy. Aiel, like adders with razor teeth. Wise Ones, reluctantly drawn along, uncertain thunderheads boiling with unpredictable energy. He didn't know if they would fight for him.

  The rest of his army was less impressive. Thousands of men with a range of experience and age—some mercenaries, some refugees from Maiden, some women who had seen the Maidens and Cha Faile and insisted on being trained alongside the men. Perrin hadn't stopped them. The Last Battle was coming. Who was he to forbid those who wanted to fight?